Aftereffects
by Prioris
Summary: In a universe that's spiraling out of control, Jane Shepard must face a horrific threat while trying not to lose what little remains of her humanity in the process. There will be aftereffects, but there's nothing special about it.


Aftereffects  
a Mass Effect 2 fan-fiction

Disclaimer: The characters, events and settings of the _Mass Effect_ game series belong to EA and Bioware. I don't own them, nor am I profiting from this venture. Attack lawyers may be checked at the bar; they'll be returned when you leave...

* * *

1. Care Package

_In which Shepard endeavors to fight for the lost, starting with herself.  
_

* * *

Coming back from the dead shouldn't have felt this... normal.

The woman they called Jane Shepard stared at her reflection in the mirror aboard the ship they called the _Normandy_, her fingers tracing delicately over the network of scars and the minute traces of metal and circuitry underlying her face. On a technical level, she had to admit that the reconstruction job her new benefactors had pulled off with her mortal remains was nothing short of amazing. She had been rebuilt from the ground up, equipped with all manner of state-of-the-art prosthetics and implants, in an elegant fusion of human and machine. From her perspective, though, the mods they'd installed placed her squarely on the wrong side of the Uncanny Valley. The artificial nerves tingled at odd intervals, didn't feel quite natural; her vision had a slightly pixellated, over-scanned quality to it, and there was a faint metallic echo in her ears. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the shallow notches under her scalp where bone ended and titanium-alloy plate began. She knew that a radiogram of her chest would reveal the talon-like locking mechanisms that held her ribcage together, and any human ear would be able to hear the whining and clicking of her prosthetic heart. She wasn't a sailor or a Spectre any more; she was a _product_. It wasn't a good feeling.

"Commander Shepard, it's good to see you up and around. How are you feeling?"

She looked up to see Miranda Lawson standing in her doorway. That was another problem - the people who'd done the rebuilding. For her entire adult life, she'd lived and worked according to an ironclad code of honor and ethics. Now, she was beholden to one of the most notorious, if not the single most disreputable black organization in Citadel space. She didn't care to test how much free will she had left, either. She didn't doubt for one second that her replacement parts came with plenty of hidden fail-safes and overrides. The Illusive Man, whoever he was, wouldn't dare risk his newly resurrected super-soldier turning against him.

"Commander Shepard," she repeated softly, waving her right arm down her body. It was a prosthetic, of course, just like all her limbs. "Died at Alchera. So did the _Normandy._ You built this in her honor. Why?"

"You're a symbol of humanity," Miranda said, in that perfectly cultured British drawl. "You represent the highest ideas we stand for. The galaxy needs heroes, Shepard, and they're in precious short supply. And who better than the woman who saved the galaxy from an eternity of geth domination?"

"Might have been smarter to leave her dead."

"The Illusive Man poured billions of credits into you, Commander," Miranda replied, a faint frown creasing her face. "Rebuilt you – faster, stronger, smarter. You're quite literally the perfect warrior, thanks to the Lazarus project. I'd think you would appreciate it. Not all of us are given a second chance at life."

She had her own thoughts on that. She'd read the file, seen the list of actions and commendations, seen her own face superimposed with a flashing red bar reading DECEASED - KIA 6.10.2183.

"Shepard had friends. A lover. What happened to them?"

Miranda shrugged a bit, arching one elegant eyebrow. "They all thought you to be dead, Commander. They... moved on. Started over, some of them. You could look them up if you wanted. We've all the relevant files in the ship's libraries."

She remained silent for several seconds, as disjointed flashes of memory played through her head. _A woman with an easy grin and an ear for poetry. Blue eyes hidden by a flickering digital monocular. The agony of slow decompression. "I don't regret a thing, Commander." Heated kisses and the perfection of passion. Walking through a silent, gutted wreck of metal..._

Slowly, she shook her head. "I can feel them... but I can't remember them."

"A side-effect of the process, I'm afraid. Your memories might come back with time, or not. It's your choice really."

"I see." Her face was impassive, a mask. "Would you please leave me for a few moments?"

"Of course, Commander." Miranda paused before exiting the cabin, producing a small package from under her arm. "You might like these. A few belongings of yours we managed to recover. Feel free to do with them as you like." She set the package on the desk as she strode out of the cabin. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

As the hatch closed, she sat at the desk, pulling the plastic wrapping open with mechanical ease. A handful of items spilled out, and she picked each up slowly, studying them in turn. A medals case was first, containing a Medal of Honor, dozens of lesser awards, expert marksman badges for sniper rifle and pistol, and a dog tag. _The birds cooed and cried to each other in the muggy dark of the Macapa night, as she studied the metal octagon that defined her new life: SHEPARD, JANE E / 5923-AC-2826 SAN / O POS NORELPREF._ A slightly dented stainless steel coffee mug engraved with the legend "Galaxy-Class Commander." An alarm clock and music player. With a tap at the controls, pulsing electronic dance music began to filter softly from the speakers. _The familiar cadence of the synthesizer didn't disguise the wonder in her quarian friend's voice. "This music is fascinating. Perhaps I will take this back to the Flotilla as part of my Pilgrimage."_ An Alliance N7 challenge coin. A blank holo-frame. She picked it up and touched its power stud, and the frame flickered to life. In the single image, a young asari stood surrounded by crates and equipment, an endearingly shy smile on her face. _"I do not understand the human fascination with candid images," she said, folding her arms over her hardsuit's torso. "Surely you would want to remember your friends and loved ones at their best, not in random snippets of mundane life." Her voice was cool, but the omni-tool's flash captured the warmth of her smile..._

She placed the frame next to her medals display case, brushing her synthetic fingers lightly over the image's cheek. Whoever the alien beauty was, she would not remain forgotten.

Now, if she could only remember herself.

* * *

Author's Note: This is something of an alternate universe to the _Special Effects_ series, and much darker in tone, as befitting the game from whence it springs. Jane is still the same, more or less, but events around her are very, very different.

Shepard's behavior upon her revival is heavily influenced by the first _Robocop_ film and the titular character's struggles to cope with his post-mortem cybernetic existence_._ In particular, Murphy's attempts to remember his family are quite wrenching, and I'd imagine Shepard must feel much the same way. I was also inspired by walking into Shepard's cabin and seeing the saved reminders of the first game, including the photo of Liara on her desk. That particular memento becomes even more poignant once you meet up with her later in the game.

I might leave this as a one-shot, or do more short pieces as inspiration strikes. There's a ton to explore in this game, and I'm not even remotely close to finding it all yet!


End file.
